


learning anything is possible now (got a feelin' that's what life's all about)

by aletterinthenameofsanity



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bonding, F/F, Fluff, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, NYADA, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Not Rachel Friendly, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:16:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aletterinthenameofsanity/pseuds/aletterinthenameofsanity
Summary: The inevitable blowout happens the next glee period.“You bitch!” Rachel comes in shouting, and before Kurt can react there’s a smack and Santana’s head is whipping sideways.Kurt jumps up. “What the fuck, Rachel?”“You stole my spot!”Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Excuse you, Rachel, Santana earned it fair and square. And you can't slap people.”Rachel turns on her heel and storms out of the choir room.Santana turns to Kurt, a smirk on her face. “I'm going to New York, Hummel,” Santana says. “Fuck Lima, I'm getting away from this awful place and so are you. Why don’t you and I be roommates in NYC? Maybe find a place to room together so we don’t have to share with some diva?”“You sure you’ll be able to put up with my morning routine and cleanliness?”“As long as that includes no opera singing in the morning, then I’m all for it.”“It’s a deal, then.”They shake on it.Santana auditions for NYADA and her and Kurt get in. Life changes a lot.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Rockstar by A Great Big World.

“You don’t want NYADA,” Rachel spits when she and Kurt find Santana at the NYADA audition. Kurt is more surprised than angry.

Santana snaps, “I’ve wanted it for as long as you have, Berry- since Ms. Pillsbury told me about it at the beginning of the school year. I’ve wanted to perform since I was little, I just always thought that it would mean having to be a Cheerio to get it. Well, now I can. My application got me here.  _ Want  _ won’t get us in from here.  _ Talent  _ will.”

Rachel scoffs, probably thinking that Santana isn’t as talented as her. Well, Kurt has seen the Troubletones perform. He has seen Valerie, and Bad Romance, and every other spectacular performance Santana has put on. Rachel is talented, sure, but so is Santana. Kurt may never have thought of her as the NYADA type, but from what he’s heard NYADA only accepts the unconventional, those who are creative. Santana’s take on what Broadway songs (specifically West Side Story) he’s heard from her is certainly different than the norm.

As Rachel moves off, Kurt sticks a hand out to shake. Santana blinks, and Kurt thinks she may have finally surprised her. “Good luck, Satan,” he says, “Let the best diva win.”

Santana smirks. “You too, Lady Hummel.”

-

Kurt does have to admit that Santana can convey emotion at least slightly better than Rachel can, going more for subtle than overdramatic like Rachel tends to. She lends a flavor, a risque edge to her performance without shoving it in your face. _ Girl with One Eye  _ (originally released by Florence Welsh) is beautifully creepy, with Santana’s movements carrying the song from melody to story. She can act pretty damn well- no, scratch that, she's amazing. Kurt has no idea how he didn't see it before.

He sighs. There’s no way he’s getting in if he has to compete with  _ both  _ of them.

-

And then Rachel  _ chokes. _

Holy  _ fuck _ .

(He might actually have a chance now.)

-

For awhile he lets himself believe that he actually has a chance, that  _ Being Alive  _ might have put him through over Rachel’s failure.

-

But then Madam Tibedeaux comes to Nationals, and he knows that after seeing Santana in  _ Edge of Glory  _ and Rachel with her solo, he won’t be getting a spot.

-

“I...I didn’t get in,” Rachel says, and Kurt’s heart sinks. If she didn’t get in, then he definitely didn’t. She flips to the next page of the letter, starts to read it, and bursts into tears. "And there's a restraining order for me not to go near Madam Tibedeaux."

Well, that was unexpected. Not unfair, but unexpected. Kurt thinks this may be the first time that Rachel has ever had to face real consequences for her actions.

Finn wraps his arms around her shoulders and Kurt reaches out reluctantly for the envelope, not wanting to face to the inevitable rejection. He pulls his own letter out of the envelope and finds...

 

_ Dear Mr. Hummel, _

_ We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted to join the NYADA class of 2012… _

 

_ Oh my god. _

Kurt’s mouth falls open and he nearly drops the letter.

-

Santana saunters into the room, no clue as to her acceptance. She seems just as she always does: confident HBIC.

“You get in, Hummel?” She asks as she plops down into the seat that Blaine normally occupies.

He nods tentatively after glancing around to make sure that Rachel isn’t here. She’s not, so he suspects that she went home after opening the envelope. “You?”

She whips out an envelope from inside her jacket pocket. “You can see for yourself”

 

_ Dear Ms. Lopez, _

_ We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted to join the NYADA class of 2012. _

 

“Holy shit,” Kurt mumbles.

“You and I are going to New York,” Santana says with a smirk. “Just as we should.”

Kurt grins. “We are.”

-

The inevitable blowout happens the next glee period.

“You  _ bitch _ !” Rachel comes in shouting, and before Kurt can react there’s a  _ smack  _ and Santana’s head is whipping sideways.

Kurt jumps up. “What the  _ fuck _ , Rachel?”

“You  _ stole  _ my spot!”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Excuse you, Rachel, Santana earned it fair and square. And you can't  _ slap  _ people.”

Rachel turns on her heel and storms out of the choir room.

Santana turns to Kurt, a smirk on her face. “I'm going to New York, Hummel,” Santana says. “Fuck Lima, I'm getting away from this awful place and so are you. Why don’t you and I be roommates in NYC? Maybe find a place to room together so we don’t have to share with some diva?”

“You sure you’ll be able to put up with my morning routine and cleanliness?”

“As long as that includes no opera singing in the morning, then I’m all for it.”

“It’s a deal, then.”

They shake on it.


	2. New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuses for the lateness of chapter, save that Blaine should appear in the next one and have his ads handed to him by Santana, so...

Emerging out of the dark subway tunnels and into the bright New York City day without Rachel by his side is a bit strange, but Kurt can’t help but appreciate the company he _is_ sharing. Santana Lopez steps out of the tunnel by his side, suitcase in hand.

(They each only carry their last bag of clothing as they already moved into their small apartment back in August. Blaine, Brittany, and Finn had helped them unpack into their small apartment over the summer.)

Kurt glances sideways at Santana, taking in her black beanie, black stiletto boots, and skin-tight blue leather jacket. An ensemble he’d rate at about an 8/10, and nothing that he’d be ashamed to walk with (as opposed to Rachel’s more fashionably challenged outfits). “You ready, Satan?”

Santana smirks and adjusts her grip on the handle of her suitcase. “Of course I’m ready, Jack McFarland. When am I ever not?”

They reach the stairs to their apartment and head up, Santana pulling her key out of her jacket pocket along the way. Kurt's is buried somewhere deep in his backpack, waiting for him to dig out when he unpacked inside of the apartment. Santana unlocks the door and they step inside.

It’s small- just one bedroom, a living room, kitchen, and bathroom, with the washing machines downstairs in a room off the lobby- but it’s theirs. The futon in the living room and the closet are Kurt’s, while the bed in the bedroom and the pop-up wardrobe are Santana’s. There’s a desk in the room that both of them can use, and a dresser that they share. Top two drawers to Kurt, bottom two to Santana. Since they are both on financial aid scholarships to NYADA, their parents are paying half the rent while they work for the rest.

Kurt drops his bag on the futon and spins slowly, arms wide to gesture to the room around him. “Home sweet home.”

Santana grins and sits down in the armchair that she brought from her house. “This’ll be it for the next four years.”

Kurt waves dismissively. “Honey, we better be world famous by the end of school. Maybe then we can get an apartment with _two_ bedrooms by then.”

She nods. “Of course, Neil Patrick Harris.”

“Okay, then,” Kurt says, “Ground rules. Don’t come into my corner, and I won't come into yours. Don’t blast music while the other person is sleeping. Clean up after yourself. Sound good?”

“Si, Senor,” Santana says, snapping a mock-salute to him. “Oh, and also don’t have sex too loud, right?” She winks.

He rolls his eyes. “That too.”

“I think this’ll work quite well, Lady Lips.”

Kurt looks around at the room that will be their living room, their workspace and life for the next few years. He sees the bare floor in the kitchen that they can dance on, the shower they’ll sing in and the tv they’ll watch trashy reality shows on.

He sees the future.

“Let’s hope.”

* * *

Two days later, Santana and Kurt put on their armor. She layers a black leather jacket over a skin-tight strapless dark blue jumpsuit, with stiletto-heeled knee-length black boots. Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, and every aspect of her appearance is _flawless_.

Kurt is dressed similarly, in all dark clothing, though his is less to emphasize his figure and more to provide contrast for his head shape and skin tone. A black turtleneck under a dark jacket, with jeans and black boots with silver clasps.

Together, they make a formidable pairing. They ride the subway into NYADA together. Their schedules, as musical theatre students, are nearly similar, with only their Tuesday and Thursday afternoon class different. Kurt is taking his one elective on costuming, while Santana is taking hers as a Character Acting class.

“First up, Vocal with Tibedeaux,” Santana says as they enter the Cervantes Auditorium. “You ready?”

“Always,” Kurt says, unable to contain his anticipation. All his life he’s wanted to go to school for the arts, whether that be fashion or the performing arts, and to finally be here, having finally made it, is breathtaking.

Santana hooks her elbow in his. “Then let’s cut some bitches.”

He glances at her and grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

-

Tibedeaux doesn’t even hesitate when it comes to throwing them to the sharks. Without any prep or warning, she has each student step up to the front and perform a song. She goes through their names without any semblance of order- Kurt Hummel get called up before Santana Lopez but after Mei Akita and John Trent.

Kurt sings an inspiring version of  _I’m Still Here,_ sure to catch the eyes of their fellow classmates. Santana smirks as their eyes widen and their backs stiffen, intimidated by his display of talent.

Santana, on the other hand, pulls out an old favorite, a polished, subtly emotional rendition of  _Back to Black._  While not her most powerful piece, it is well-done and accomplishes a decent first impression.

Santana plops down next to him. “Good job,” he leans over and whispers.

“Tu también,” she says.

They watch the rest of the freshmen go through their songs. They're all amazingly talented, no doubt, but only a few truly stand out. A girl named Mei dressed in an extravagant Victorian style dress sings a wonderful rendition of _Could I Leave You_ from _Follies_ , and a boy with a head of dark curls and a starkly bare outfit (just a white button-down and black slacks) sings a tear-wrenching version of _It's Hard to Speak My Heart_ from _Parade._

(In between numbers, they exchange barbs about their classmates. It feels kind of great to be able to just snipe about people without fearing moral judgement from hypocritical Rachel Berrys, to just sharpen their tongues against the justifiably weak without having to be kind.

Santana and Kurt are similar souls, with similar senses of humor. They understand using sharp words as armor, but also as tools of humor and fun. This should be _awesome_.)

* * *

First period of dance, they get nicknames dished out on them by Ms. July, but neither of them are too bad. China Doll and Limber Legs, which could actually be seen as compliments, at least in certain settings.

They part at the door to the changing rooms.

“Meet you in front of Sondheim Hall after the elective class?” Kurt asks, feeling the sweat dripping down his back against his tank.

Santana nods. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

-

When they get back home, they’re both exhausted but they need to talk.

“New rule,” Santana says, “No jealousy. No guilt-tripping if the other gets a part. No Rachel Berrys in this apartment.”

He gives a sharp nod. It won't be healthy if either of them lets their egos get in the way. If they're to be roommates- and friends- they've gotta work together.

“Also we'll totally be duet partners when we can, _si_?”

Kurt grins. “Of course, Satan. As long as we get Japanese tonight. I’ve been craving the stuff from the cafe down the street since we were here moving in.”

She smirks. “Order an order of miso soup and you've got a deal, China Doll.”

He mock-bows at her. “At your command, Limber Legs.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you want me to continue this.


End file.
